It was with a pang of envy that Intellectual Orchid left for her meeting at the Chamber of Commerce (involving a complicated deal with Indonesia). She went feeling their eyes upon her thin back; unprotected, exposed, vulnerable because of Pearl and of Sen. In her the small voice of despair whispered that she could never explain to the ladies, nor to anyone in her circle, why Sen had gone to the jungle, and why Pearl was running away to China.

*  *  *

3 p.m. Singapore.

‘By the way,’ said John Symonds as he and Luke Davis drove back from lunch at Raffles Hotel, ‘speaking of students going to China, another batch of twenty left yesterday. Twelve girls among them. More girls than boys this time. There’s bound to be a bit of a rumpus in Hongkong, because one of the girls is going to be hauled back … Quo Boon’s daughter.’

A picture rose in Luke’s mind of the morning’s missed encounter, of Intellectual Orchid in slacks at the rubber factory. ‘Which daughter?’

‘Must be the youngest, though one never knows, he may still be producing them … the man has a fantastic family, fully as large as the Sultan of Kelantan’s. The old ones are all right, business and no politics except the Progressively Independent Party, Sir Moksa-what’s-his-name’s Pipsqueak … and that’s safely conservative. They’re as scared of independence as we are. The young ones are of course what we call ‘infected with the Red Virus’. This girl’s English name is Pearl, Chinese name in our files something Orchid. She left yesterday on the Thibania for Canton. Her sister is flying over to collect her when she lands in Hongkong. Our informer at Kallang airport rang up this morning to tell me that a ticket had just been booked in the name of Mrs Johnny Tam … that’s Betty Quo, the eldest daughter of Quo Boon.’

‘Alias Intellectual Orchid,’ grinned Luke, but his mouth lingered over the words, as his eye held her picture after she was out of sight.

‘I’ll show you some snaps in my office … we had these youngsters’ pictures taken, while they were climbing on to the boat, for our records … they did the usual stuff, trying to hide behind newspapers, but we got Pearl all right.’

‘I’ve seen that face before.’ Luke scanned the picture, the stubborn oval face looking straight at the camera without blinking, a hand half up to cover it, a blur in front of her breast.’ Where have I seen her?’

‘They all look alike to me still,’ John Symonds complained. ‘I thought it was because they were much alike, until my friend Mahudin told me that he had the greatest difficulty distinguishing us … we whites all look alike to him, he says. I think he’s boasting, trying to make himself more Asian that way, pretending not to know one red-haired devil from another, don’t you?’